


Mug-collecting boyfriends

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic Boyfriends, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Inspired by Art, M/M, Pride, an abundance of nice older ladies, billy has an apartment and a cat and a boyfriend, mug-collecting, they collect mugs together and are very happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Billy has an apartment, and a cat, and a boyfriend. What he doesnothave, is enough mugs.Billy and Steve set out to do something about that. It becomes theirthing.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 27
Kudos: 93





	1. The “I don’t play well with others!” mug

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Klayr_de_Gall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klayr_de_Gall/gifts).



> For the lovely [Klayr_de_Gall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klayr_de_Gall/pseuds/Klayr_de_Gall), who drew me [the most perfect birthday present](https://klayr-de-gall.tumblr.com/post/641943687543373824/mug-collecting-boyfriends-a-little-something-for) I've ever gotten, which made me cry <3
> 
> That drawing was based off [this tumblr post](https://ihni.tumblr.com/post/637325317352079360/hear-me-out-mug-collecting-boyfriends), so in essence this is a fic inspired by art inspired by a tumblr post. Thank you Klayr, you are amazing!

Billy had his own apartment, now.

It was small, with too narrow doorways and windows placed too low on the walls to have been built by any serious contractor, but Billy had moved all his stuff there in a day and by nightfall, he had his posters up on the walls and his books in a second-hand bookcase.

A second-hand bookcase that Steve had helped him carry there.

Because that was the thing. Even though Steve basically lived alone in a big-ass house – not _technically_ , but his parents were out of town three weeks every month so Steve considered himself at least 3/4 an orphan – he found himself spending a lot of time in Billy’s crappy little apartment. He couldn’t remember when they evolved into friends territory, but as soon as Billy had moved in, Steve found that most of the time, that’s where they ended up when they hung out. It didn’t make sense – Billy didn’t even have a TV!

“I don’t need a TV,” Billy said, sprawled out on an old couch that he’d saved from the side of the road. “I have my music and I have my books.”

“Nerd,” Steve muttered under his breath and laughed as he had to duck to avoid the pack of cigarettes that Billy chucked at him. “What about when you’re bored? What do you do then, like for entertainment?”

Billy grinned and licked his lips. “Well, I have you for that, don’t I?”

Steve cleared his throat but didn’t comment, because it was true, wasn’t it? He was at Billy’s almost every day after work, and a couple of times he’d even spent the night when it got too late for him to go home, and Billy said he could stay. And, well, since Steve absolutely refused to sleep in (or even _sit on_ , without a protective layer of blankets) the roadside couch, he slept in the same bed as Billy. And when things somehow _weren’t_ awkward the next day, well, it kept happening.

And then cuddles started happening too. And when none of them seemed to mind it, the cuddling evolved into occasional kisses. And then some light groping. And eventually they were doing _other_ things in Billy’s bed – things that were very far removed from sleeping.

Steve wasn’t sure what he would call it, really, if he had to put a label on it – but he didn’t have to, so he didn’t. He came over as often as he could after work, and he got all warm inside when Billy met him in the tiny hall, giving him a kiss to welcome him home. They went to bed together, they woke up together, they made breakfast together … he was happy. And, better yet, Billy was happy too. Steve could see it in the soft look on his face when he thought Steve wasn’t looking, and he could feel it in the gentle way Billy’s fingers would card through his hair when they cuddled up together.

Hell, even Billy’s cat – a little lady with white fur that Billy had brought home one day and promptly named Missy – seemed to like Steve there, and loved to curl up in his lap when he sat down in his nest of blankets next to Billy on the couch.

It was all very domestic.

One morning Missy jumped up on the counter only to smack a coffee cup that had been placed a little too close to the edge down onto the floor, shattering it. Steve winced at the noise, but then sighed and walked over to the broom closet and got the broom to sweep it up while Billy lifted Missy off the counter and chewed her out a bit (lovingly). When Billy got back into the kitchen, sans Missy, he groaned. “Damn it, that was my good cup, too.”

Steve, busy throwing the shards away in the trash, looked up. “The one without the crack?” Because Billy only had two matching ones, and one of them had a crack running down one side.

“Yeah,” Billy pouted.

Steve couldn’t help giving him a little kiss when his lips were puckered like that, which drew a chuckle out of Billy.

“Aw,” he said, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll buy you a new one.”

And then he promptly forgot about it, for like a week or so. They made do anyway. Whoever woke up first got to use the cup, and whoever woke up last had to use a glass for their morning coffee – or, if that person was Billy, he simply stole the cup and whatever coffee was still in it.

But then one day, Steve was reminded of his promise when he passed a yard sale and saw the _perfect_ mug, just standing there on a table. It was black, and on it were the words “I don’t play well with others!” in big blocky letters. He bought it – it was only a dollar, after all – and brought it home.

“I saw this and thought of you,” he said, snickering, when he handed it over.

Billy grabbed it and read the text. When he looked up again, he had one eyebrow raised and was looking particularly unimpressed. “And what’s this supposed to mean, huh? Are you saying I’m not a _team player_ , Harrington?”

“Hey, if the shoe fits …”

A second later, Billy had Steve in a headlock and was messing up his hair, and Steve was laughing helplessly while trying to get away.

“I’ll have you know,” Billy said, changing his tactics and whirling around, tickling Steve’s sides instead, “that basketball is a team sport, and I fucking _excelled_ at that.”

“You were a one-man army,” Steve managed to gasp out between giggles. “You’d bowl over your own teammates just to score!” He broke out of Billy’s hold, but Billy caught up to him when he ran, and trapped him against the wall.

With their noses almost touching, Billy leaned in close and breathed in Steve’s face. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if you guys hadn’t been so slow.”

“ _You’re_ slow,” Steve said with a grin.

“No I’m not–“ Billy started, but was silenced when Steve surged forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. He froze for a moment before huffing out a laugh and kissing back.

“See?” Steve grinned when they broke apart. “Too slow.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

Steve froze just as the words left his mouth, and he realized what he’d said. Billy’s eyes widened a fraction, but he didn’t back away. Instead, he let out a breath and looked down, just for a second. When he looked back up, he was biting his lip. “Maybe I do.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “Yeah?”

A small smile. “I mean … yeah.”

“Me too.”

They kissed again, mug forgotten.


	2. The “No I won’t keep calm and you can fuck off” mug

Despite Billy’s reaction to the mug, he used it every day. One day Steve woke up first and took the first mug he could reach from the cupboard – not actually being awake enough BC (before coffee) to realize that he was reaching for The Mug – and Billy actually frowned when he stumbled into the kitchen and found that the only other option was the one with the crack.

He looked so genuinely upset that Steve resolved to leave that mug for him in the future – but then he went to Indianapolis with his parents for a weekend and walked past a kitschy shop that his mother scoffed disdainfully at, so naturally he had to go in there, just to be contrary. And he found another mug, which also _screamed_ Billy Hargrove.

It was red, with a crown at the top, which was why it caught his eye in the first place – Steve had initially been looking for a mug for himself, so he wouldn’t have to use the one with the crack, and Billy kept calling him King Steve when he wanted to tease him – but then he read the text on it, and snorted out loud.

It said “No I won’t keep calm and you can fuck off”. The salesman said that it was some kind of spoof on a British motivational poster from some war or whatever, but Steve didn’t care about that. It wouldn’t surprise him if Billy got the reference, though – his boyf … Billy was _smart_.

Proven by the fact that Billy actually laughed out loud when Steve presented him with it.

Steve smirked, and had to ask. “What, you’re not gonna argue about that one?”

Billy smiled and turned the mug over in his hands. “Nope.” He raised an eyebrow. “This one might actually be useful in the future.”

“Useful? How do you mean ‘useful’?”

“I mean, if I punch someone in the face after annoying me, after drinking from this mug? That could be considered a fair warning. Probably very useful in a trial.”

That made Steve groan. “Please don’t end up in a trial.” He reached for the mug, as if to take it back, but Billy twisted his body and held it out of reach.

“No promises.” He nodded to the mug in his hand. “’I won’t keep calm’ after all. You know that. You bought it for me.”

“Before I knew you were going to use it to get out of a battery charge.”

Billy just smiled angelically at him. “It just shows that you know me so well.”

“Ugh. We’ll just have to convince anyone you punch to not press charges, then, because I don’t think that any judge in Indiana will accept a _novelty mug_ reason enough to punch someone in the face.”

“By ‘convince’, do you mean ‘threaten’?”

“No!”

“Then it won’t work,” Billy decided and shook his head. “You may not know this, pretty boy, but normal people _would_ press charges when having been punched in the face.”

“You punched me in the face, and I didn’t press charges.”

“I said ‘normal people’, Steve.” Billy smirked and moved to set the mug with the other in the cupboard. He stopped for a second to admire their now three-cup collection.

“Ha ha ha.”

Billy turned and blew a kiss his way.


	3. The smug mug

Billy was the one who brought home the next mug. One morning he just pushed Steve back in bed when Steve sat up and rubbed his eyes, and said, “Why don’t I bring you breakfast in bed today?”

Steve blinked at him blearily and said, as eloquently as possible, “Okay?”

Only when Billy had left the room and Steve had fallen back into the sheets did it occur to Steve that this was an unprecedented situation, and that Billy was probably up to something.

“Why??” he called, suddenly suspicious.

“No reason,” came from the kitchen along with the sounds of the coffee maker starting. “Just stay there and let me take care of you for once.”

If Steve had been more awake, he would have investigated this highly suspicious behavior further. As he was newly awake, he stayed in bed and tried to make his brain wake up instead.

The only reasons why people had breakfast in bed were, according to Steve’s very limited and movie-based knowledge: it was someone’s birthday, it was someone’s anniversary, or someone was getting proposed to.

For a heart-stopping moment Steve thought he’d somehow forgotten his own birthday, but then remembered that it was in November, and relaxed. Billy’s was in April, so he was good on that front, too. No one was getting married, obviously, because they were both guys – even if Steve’s stomach flipped when he let himself consider it, for just a second – so the only plausible reason left was some kind of anniversary.

How long had it been since the first time they kissed? Steve couldn’t remember. Nor could he remember the date of the first time they had sex, or even the first time they mentioned the L word, even if that one was more recent.

He thought long and hard. Could it have been three weeks ago? Four? A month? A month was an anniversary-worthy amount of time, right? But would Billy – _Billy_ _Hargrove_ – think that, and maybe more importantly; would Billy be the kind of romantic to celebrate such an event with breakfast in bed?

Billy had once offered Steve a shrug and a blowjob to make him feel better, after he came home and complained about Nancy and Jonathan being all lovey-dovey in his presence all day. So no, it probably wasn’t Billy’s style to go all mushy, all of a sudden.

Then what could it be? Could it be something … Upside-Down related? Had Billy been _body snatched??_

By the time Billy came back into the bedroom, Steve was sitting up in bed, hugging his comforter close to his chest, and watching Billy through narrowed eyes. Billy, who was carrying a tray, seemed to notice immediately, and frowned. “What?”

“Who are you and what have you done to Billy?”

Billy let out a laugh and bumped the door shut with his hip to keep Missy from getting in. “You’re being silly.”

“And you’re not being _Billy_ ,” Steve said, very proud of managing a rhyme this early in the morning.

Billy rolled his eyes and set the tray down on the bed next to Steve on the bed, sloshing a bit of coffee out of the …

Oh.

Okay, that made sense.

Steve had forgotten about the _fourth_ reason why someone would want to give someone else a breakfast in bed, especially if the first ‘someone’ was Billy Hargrove; to be a little shit.

There were two sloppily-made sandwiches on a plate on the tray, as well as two cups of coffee. Billy’s red “No I won’t keep calm”-mug – and a new addition.

A _smug_ mug.

Steve tilted his head to watch it from the side. It was an all-white mug, with a face on it. The face was smirking, with an eyebrow raised, and it was actually a pretty funny mug. Steve had never seen one quite like it. But judging from the gleeful expression on Billy’s face, there was some kind of reason to this one, that Steve hadn’t gotten yet.

Billy was happy to tell him.

“It looks _just_ like Henderson!” he said, raising both eyebrows and grinning from ear to ear.

“It does _not_!” Steve said, reflexively coming to Dustin’s defense.

Billy picked it up, swearing when he sloshed more coffee out of it, and then held it up in front of Steve’s face as if the reason why Steve didn’t agree with him was that he hadn’t seen it properly the first time.

“Look at it!” he insisted. “It looks just like him, after he’s argued a point and think he’s won. All smug and unbearable, _look_!”

Steve looked. And had to clench his jaw and make a conscious effort not to laugh, because Billy had a point. It did resemble Dustin’s ‘I’m right and I know it’-expression. But Steve was nothing but loyal to his pseudo-brother, and refused to admit so out loud. “I don’t see it.”

“You liar!” Billy said, but with a twinkle in his eye. “Just for that, I’m taking all the coffee.” And he grabbed the mug, as well as his own, and made to leave the bed. Steve’s hand shot out and grasped at his T-shirt before he got up, though.

“No, wait!”

Billy put the mugs down again, raising an eyebrow and doing a very good impression of the face on the mug. “Ready to admit that I’m right?”

“Never.”

“Well then, I –“

“ _But_ ,” Steve interrupted and bit his lip, looking up at Billy through his lashes, “it _was_ sweet of you to bring me breakfast in bed.”

“Fuck you, I’m not sweet.”

Steve ignored him. “One might even say I’m _very grateful_ for it.”

Billy perked up at that. “Oh, _really_?”

“Yeah,” Steve said and stretched out in bed, making sure that his own T-shirt rode up a bit and thoroughly enjoying the way Billy licked his lips at the sight. “I might feel inclined to repay the favor, somehow …”

“Is that so?” Billy had put the mugs back on the tray, and put one warm hand on Steve’s stomach.

“Uh-huh,” Steve said. “Of course, that’s provided that I actually get to _enjoy_ my breakfast … in bed.”

Billy straightened up at that. His hand left Steve’s stomach, but only to grab the smug mug and thrust it in Steve’s face, splashing some coffee on the pillow next to Steve’s head. “Here! Enjoy your coffee!”

Steve took it, laughing, and took a big gulp. It was perfect, because Billy knew how he liked his coffee by now. “You’re so easy, babe.”

“And you’re a brat, _sweetheart_.”

Steve absolutely did _not_ choke at the endearment, he just got coffee down his throat, that’s all. Licking his lips, and watching Billy follow the movement with his eyes, he smiled.

“You softie.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh come here!” Steve said, abandoning his coffee on the tray. “Breakfast can wait!”


	4. The rainbow mug

Pride was a strange experience. Almost nerve-racking in its intensity. It was a lovely day; warm, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. There had been a parade, and Steve and Billy had both been in it. It was their first Pride, and at first they’d both been nervous.

But they were surrounded on all sides by people who were like them. Happy, smiling, celebrating people who – on this day, in this place – weren’t afraid to show the world who they loved. It made it easier to breathe, to know that they weren’t alone. That they were just two queer people in a sea of other queer people – that there were no targets on their backs for expressing themselves here.

It was easy to get lost in it all, but it wasn’t until Steve saw two young men kissing – two young men their own age, one of which was wearing a denim jacket with a pride pin on the lapel – without anyone doing more than smile at them, that it hit him. This wasn’t Hawkins, Indiana. This was a big city, and they were just two people out of a thousand. Here, they could _do that_. Out in the _open_.

He didn’t, though. Didn’t dare to, still. But he glanced over at Billy – beautiful Billy, who was watching the people around him with wide eyes – and nudged his hand with his fingers. He didn’t grab at his hand or anything, didn’t want to make any demands. Just a gentle nudge.

Billy stopped walking. Steve did the same, and while he kept his eyes on the people around them, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Billy stared down at their hands for several seconds. Then he slowly threaded their fingers together. Steve’s heart was beating so hard in his chest, and he couldn’t help looking over. Billy looked at their clasped hands in wonder, before letting his eyes dart around to the people around them – none of which so much as raised an eyebrow. When he looked back at Steve, his face split in a grin so bright that it outshone the sun.

Steve had never wanted to kiss him more.

Instead of doing that, though – it felt like too big of a step to take right now – he squeezed Billy’s hand. Billy squeezed back, and Steve knew what it meant: _This is us_. _This is our future_.

_I love you_.

Steve didn’t comment on the tremble he could feel in Billy’s hand, and Billy didn’t comment when Steve’s vision got blurry and he had to blink away tears.

So they said nothing, but when they continued walking – in the midst of a crowd of happy, loving people who were _like them_ – they did so hand in hand.

***

Hours later, they were on their way to their hotel; happy, sweaty, content. Billy had let a girl paint his nails in all colors of the rainbow, and Steve had glitter all over after letting a huge Viking-looking dude – with braids and a beard who’d been shirtless and absolutely covered in glitter – hug him. When he’d been let go, Billy had laughed and leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder briefly, and now had some glitter on his face, too. Steve couldn’t help grinning every time he saw it sparkle in the sunlight.

They were still holding hands.

They were walking down the street, without the buffer of all the other people, and they were holding hands. Just two young people in love. As if gender didn’t matter.

And maybe it was because it was a bigger city, maybe it was because it was Pride, maybe people were just more used to seeing people like them here, but no one had shouted any slurs at them or given them any scathing looks.

Steve felt high on it – on the fact that Billy was his boyfriend and that they didn’t have to pretend otherwise or save it for behind locked doors – and he wished with everything he had that he could keep this feeling forever.

So when they walked past a gift shop and he saw the mug in the window, he didn’t hesitate. Just changed direction in the middle of a step, and pulled Billy with him to the shop entrance despite his boyfriend’s puzzled protests. He left him by the door, “Stay here, I just have to … do something. Stay,” and Billy did.

When Steve came out of the shop, he proudly presented Billy with a gaudy little gift bag.

“What’s this?”

“Well, it’s a thing commonly known as a gift …”

Billy snorted, and play-punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up, smartass.”

When he unwrapped the mug from the silk paper it had been covered in, his face softened. It was just an ordinary mug; a simple white mug. But down the length of the handle was a strip of rainbow colors. Steve had seen it and knew he had to get it. To help them remember this day; a day when they didn’t have to hide who they were to each other. A day of freedom.

_I love you_.

That’s what the mug meant, and by the look on Billy’s face, he got it. He reached out and took Steve’s hand, squeezed it a little. Then, after throwing glances up and down the street, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s lips.

And Steve’s heart soared.


	5. The small teal cup

“I want a corndog,” Billy said.

“You’ve already had a burger, a hot dog, an ice cream and spun sugar!”

They were at a fair, just outside of town. There were a lot of tents and booths and activities and people selling home-made goods, and okay, they hadn’t exactly had time for breakfast before they came here (they got _distracted_ ), but it wasn’t even noon yet.

“So what? I’m a growing boy!”

Steve watched as Billy turned to look for the corndog stand, licking his lips. “ _I’m_ gonna be a _growing boy_ if I have to watch you deepthroat a corndog in public,” Steve muttered under his breath. Apparently Billy heard him, because he leered at him over his shoulder.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Billy said, obviously lying.

“The hot dog was bad enough, babe. You were moaning as if you were –“ He looked around, trying to judge if anyone was close enough to hear him if he referenced the activities that made them miss out on breakfast in the first place. Unfortunately people _were_ in hearing range. Damnit. “– as if you were having _too good a time_ , if you know what I mean.”

“I _was_ having a good time,” Billy said, faux-innocently, taking a step closer and biting his lip. “It was a _very good_ hot dog.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Steve muttered when Billy got closer, and leaned in close enough for Steve to smell his cologne.

“But what a way to go,” Billy said, low into his ear. Steve could feel his breath on his skin, and had to clench his fists at his sides to avoid doing something stupid, like grope Billy in public.

“Ah,” said a voice from behind them. “Young love.”

Steve felt Billy stiffen, and turned around. In a booth just behind them was an older lady of maybe 70 who was watching them through thick glasses, chin resting in her hands. She had long and unkempt gray hair drawn back in a bun, and was wearing something that mostly resembled a carpet. Her face was wrinkled, but despite that and the gray hair, she didn’t seem very old. Her eyes were blue and they sparkled behind her glasses. She was smiling at them.

“What?” Steve said, intelligibly.

The woman turned to Billy and tutted. “Relax, boy, I won’t tell anyone. I’m perceptive, not mean.”

Billy exhaled slowly and visibly tried to will himself to relax. “I’m sorry, lady, I don’t know what you –“

“Of course you don’t. You’re both just standing here, right in front of me, looking at each other as if nothing else matters. That’s not love _at all_ , oh no.” She grinned at their stricken expressions, and continued, “It’s not like I have given my partner the same look every morning for the past thirty years.”

“Look, lady,” Billy said, having collected himself. “You’re mistaken. We’re not –“

But the woman spoke over him, again. “Oh you guys are so cute. My partner would _love_ this. I wish she was here to see it.”

Steve froze. At his side, Billy faltered.

“… ‘she’?”

The woman’s face softened as she watched them. “Love is love,” she said, shrugging. “And we are lucky to experience it.”

Steve didn’t speak, because he didn’t know what to say. It felt big, somehow, to have this little lady look at them and _see_ them, and not want to ruin them.

Billy didn’t say anything, either. Instead, he walked up to the booth and made a show out of watching her wares; a mix of pottery items and crocheted oven-mitts and embroidered tea towels. The woman watched him amusedly as he picked a small teal cup up from the table and cleared his throat.

“How much for this?”

“Two dollars, fifty cents.”

Billy nodded, and Steve watched him as he got a couple of bills out from his back pocket – a chore if Steve ever saw one, because those jeans were _tight_ – and paid the lady. When she handed him his change back, he shook his head and backed away, holding the cup almost protectively in both hands. She smiled at them, and it was a smaller smile this time; more private.

“You know,” she said. “I know a thing or two about love. And you two?” She pointed between the two of them. “You’re the real thing. I can tell. You’re going to live a happy life together.”

Billy cleared his throat again, and Steve’s head snapped up, surprised to find that Billy’s eyes were wet. “Babe,” he said, and then quieted, throwing a glance at the lady.

She winked at him, and pointed to the left. “Corndogs are that way, by the way.”

That made both of them laugh, and Steve somehow managed to thank her before nudging Billy’s elbow and making him start walking. They didn’t say anything for a minute or two, before Billy took a deep breath and held up the little cup for Steve to inspect.

“It’s cute,” Steve said, because it was. Billy laughed, and turned it upside down.

There was a hand-written price tag sticker on the bottom. It said $5.50.


	6. The dainty little cup

Billy was at a Church function. If anyone had told him two months ago that he’d end up doing charity work for the Church, he would have laughed in their face, and maybe thrown a punch. It was a series of events that had led him here, really, starting with old Mrs. Johnson on the other end of the street falling and injuring her hip, and Billy offering to take care of her cat – Daisy – while she was in the hospital.

At first, he’d just gone over to her house a couple of times a day, to hang out with Daisy and feed her and change her water and clean the litter box, but already on the second day, Daisy made such heart-breaking noises whenever Billy would leave her alone that he felt like a bastard.

So he brought her home.

He didn’t know how Missy would react to her, and kept them separated at first. Missy got reign of the whole apartment while Daisy got to hang out in the bedroom only, but eventually he let them meet and – well, they got along. And that was that.

When Mrs. Johnson got back from the hospital, two weeks later, Billy brought both Daisy and Missy to her house to welcome her home. He’d bought groceries to fill up her fridge in case she wouldn’t be able to go shopping for a while, and had even brought in a couple of roses from the bushes outside her window, to put in a vase on the kitchen table.

Mrs. Johnson, with the help of the cab driver who’d taken her home, hobbled inside and promptly started crying when she saw it. Billy had panicked, and put Daisy in her lap, and thought that he had fucked it all up until she patted him on the cheek with a wrinkly hand that smelled like almonds, blinked through her tears and called him ‘such a good boy’.

And, well. Mrs. Johnson had liked him before, but she basically adopted him from that moment on.

She would made food for him (and Steve) at least three times a week, Billy would help her with the groceries and the garden, she would bake him cookies, he would bring Missy over to play with Daisy, and that’s how they saw each other almost every day.

And now, he was at a Church function, helping to carry tables and chairs and set up for all the old people who would spend time after the sermon doing … well, whatever it was old people did at a Church function. Billy didn’t know, but judging by the amount of Tupperware containers he’d helped Mrs. Johnson load into the Camaro this morning, he knew it consisted of an unreasonably high amount of baked goods.

The strange thing was, he didn’t even hate it.

Despite the medal he wore around his neck, he’d never been much for religion. He figured that if there was a God, surely he (“Or she,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Max added in his head) would have done something about all the horrible things that went on in this world. His father had been religious, and often used it against Billy while he was still living under the man’s roof, and – well, it hadn’t exactly warmed Billy up to the Church, was all.

But he had to admit it was kind of nice. This. Being here, following Mrs. Johnson’s instructions and being introduced to her friends as “Billy, who I told you about”, and seeing people’s faces light up when they shook his hand, as if the things they’d heard about him had been _good_ things. He liked the way they smiled at him when they saw him, and how they thanked him when he helped them, and he could feel his ears go red when he overheard Mrs. Johnson and another lady talking, and she said that “I don’t know what I would have done without Billy, honestly. He’s like the son I never had.”

All in all, spending his Sunday setting up tables on the lawn outside the Church turned out nicer than he had expected. Even though he would occasionally hear his dad’s voice in his head, telling him that he was _wrong_ in the eyes of God, a disgrace of a son, a despicable human being.

He gritted his teeth, and told that voice to shut the fuck up.

As he was bringing coffee cups and spoons out from the kitchenette in the basement, to set out on the large table which was already full of thermoses and plates full of cookies and cakes, he spotted something in the back of the cupboard. It was a lonely cup, tiny and ornate; a dainty little thing that didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the things in there. Without thinking much about it, he grabbed in and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket.

Stealing from the Church. His dad would have hated him for it – which, to be fair, was partly why he did it.

The other part was because the little cup looked so out of place there. Stuffed in the back. Forgotten. It had almost looked _lonely_.

He didn’t say any of those things when he got home that night, though. What he _did_ say was, “One more for the collection, babe!” and then he threw it at Steve with a “Think fast!”

Steve caught it, barely, and cursed at him. He was still wearing his clothes from work, and looked a bit harried already, but he smiled when Billy walked over and kissed his cheek. Then he looked down at the cup in his hands.

“It’s tiny,” was his first comment.

“Yup,” said Billy.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Stole it from Church,” Billy said, grinning.

Steve just smiled at that, shaking his head. “Of course you did.” Turning the cup in his hand, he frowned doubtfully. “I mean, it’s really small. Like, one sip of coffee, at the most. What will we even use it for?”

“I don’t know,” Billy said, shrugging, and refused to admit that it had simply looked lonely. “Shots?”


	7. The home-made monstrosity

Since apparently mug-collecting had become their _thing_ , Steve – as a good boyfriend – signed the both of them up for a pottery class over a weekend. Just for fun. Billy at first refused to go, but Steve bribed him with a blowjob and the promise of several more to come.

It turned out, though, that pottery was much harder than either of them would have thought.

“No wonder that lady charged five dollars for a tiny cup,” Steve grumbled as he tried to shape the clay in his hands into something vaguely mug-looking. “This shit is _hard_.”

Billy didn’t say anything. He hadn’t been saying anything for the last twenty minutes, and judging by the way he was grinding his teeth together, that was a good thing because whatever would spill out of his mouth if he spoke now was bound to be expletives.

Because whereas Steve had gone for the easiest option – trying to thumb the clay into something resembling a drinking vessel, like their instructor showed them – Billy had scoffed, and gone straight for throwing clay. And – also like their instructor had told them – throwing clay was not something that was recommended for beginners. For a reason, it turned out.

Now, Steve knew his boyfriend was proud and determined when he wanted to be – and apparently, proving a 40 year old woman (who had been making clay works for more than half her life) wrong was one of those times – but he also had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the increasingly more lump-shaped creation that Billy was working on.

It had started off well. He’d managed to shape the clay into a little pillar between his hands, and then he’d stuck his thumb inside and managed to make it look like, well, like a cup – although a very fat cup with a very tiny hole in it. The problem came when he was instructed to start thinning out the sides, and bring them up.

The first attempt folded like a house of cards, leaving Billy staring down dejectedly at the collapsed clay on the still spinning wheel. Steve felt a little sorry for him, then – because it _had_ looked nice, before it collapsed – and said, “Aw, you were so close. Try again!”

He regretted it now, telling Billy to try again. Because Billy refused to give up. Steve’s own attempt at a mug – which actually resembled a mug by now, making him very proud – was almost finished, while Billy was growling at his own creation. What he had on the pottery wheel now could maybe be described as an ashtray, and that was if the person who described it was feeling charitable.

As Steve added a few finishing touches to buy Billy more time, like tracing a pattern on the outside of it even though he hadn’t planned on doing it, their instructor came over and hinted strongly that everyone else was finished, and if they’d just leave their things, she would let them dry and then have them glazed. Billy glared at her but finally dropped his hands to his sides, not even caring that he got clay on his jeans.

“You can pick your things up in two weeks, that’ll give me enough time to burn them,” their instructor said, and all but ushered them out the door. To be fair, the class was supposed to end at five and now it was six, so Steve guessed he could understand her urgency.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” he said lightly as they started walking, and laughed when Billy pinned him under a glare. Steve still had clay all over his hands – the lady hadn’t given them time to wash off in her hurry to make them leave – and he couldn’t help reaching up and _boop_ :ing Billy’s nose. It left a small smear of watered-down clay there, and Billy’s outraged expression made Steve laugh even harder.

They were out of sight of the windows, and there was no one on the street. Steve took advantage, and pressed a kiss to the tip of Billy’s nose, too. “Come on, babe, don’t be such a grump.”

“This was the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“ _Grump_.”

“A pottery class? Really? What are we, like 60 years old?”

“I _hope_ we’re still doing this when we’re 60.” And that shut Billy up. Steve knew his boyfriend enough by now to know that while he rarely initiated mushy talk, he _did_ melt like butter out in the sun as soon as his ears started getting red – and his ears were getting red now. “We’re gonna have so many mugs when we’re 60.”

Billy ducked his head, fought against a smile. “Gonna have to get a bigger apartment to keep them in, then. A whole house, maybe.”

“You wanna get a house?” Steve teased, and pulled Billy in by his belt loops – his jeans were stained with clay already, a little more couldn’t hurt. “Wanna get a white picket fence, too, while you’re at it?”

“Shut up.”


	8. The (beautiful, handsome, perfect in every way) ugly mug

Two weeks later, Steve picked up their creations from their instructor. She’d glazed and burned them, like she promised, and Steve was happily surprised to see that the mug he’d made actually looked like a mug. It was a little wonky, a little wobbly, but it was undoubtedly a mug, and the green glaze made it look much better than he’d imagined. He smiled to himself when he looked down inside it. He’d added his and Billy’s initials to the bottom, just because he could.

Billy’s design, though, looked nothing like a mug. Their instructor had filed down some edges so it wouldn’t be sharp, and glazed it in a beautiful bright blue color, but that couldn’t hide the fact that it looked like a five year old had made it. With their eyes closed. Steve got his snickering out of his system before he got home, and placed both items on the kitchen counter so Billy would see them when he walked in through the door.

Half an hour later, he heard a key in the lock.

Steve, who was sitting in the couch with Missy in his lap, turned his head and watched as Billy came in and started shrugging of his jacket. “Hey babe.”

“Hey.” Billy raised his eyebrows. “What, I work all weekend and I don’t even get a ‘welcome home’ kiss?”

“Can’t,” Steve said and pointed down at his lap. “Cat.”

Billy nodded as if that made perfect sense – and honestly it did, because Missy refused to be moved once she was comfortable – and instead made his way over to the couch and gave Steve’s upturned face a kiss. Steve smiled into it, especially when Missy made a protesting sound and stood up, headbutting him in the arm.

“Someone’s jealous,” he said, and watched as his boyfriend turned his attention to his cat.

“Oh, you’re jealous, are you? Are you, Missy? Are you _spoiled_?” Billy petted her for a while before standing up straight and stretching his arms over his head until something popped in his back. He groaned.

“Long day?”

“The longest.”

“I know something that will cheer you up,” Steve said, smirking. “Go look in the kitchen.”

“Oooh, you brought me a gift?” Billy grinned. “You shouldn’t have.”

He left the room. Steve listened, but there was no reaction. The seconds passed, and still Billy said nothing. “Babe?” Missy finally jumped off his lap, allowing Steve to stand up and follow her into the kitchen, where he found Billy standing by the counter, leaning on the surface, staring at their clay creations.

“Billy?”

When Billy spoke, his voice was strained. “You _really_ shouldn’t have.” And Steve was worried for a grand total of two seconds, until he got a good look at Billy’s face and saw that he was fighting against laughter. Biting his lip, quivering eyebrows, the whole thing. Steve _ached_ to hear it.

So he took the blue … thing … that Billy had created, and weighed it in his hand. “I don’t know,” he said, pretending to inspect it. “I think you did good.” And then he brought it to his lips, miming drinking from it, and that’s what did it. Billy threw his head back and laughed, loudly and for a long time, and Steve couldn’t help joining in. When it finally tapered down, Billy wiped the tears of mirth off his face and grabbed the thing from Steve.

“It is … _so_ ugly.”

“It’s not ugly,” Steve felt the need to defend it. “It’s just … special. And maybe not exactly a mug.”

“It looks like modern art. Shitty, ugly, modern art.”

“See?” Steve said, smiling, while jumping up so he was sitting on the counter. “Maybe you’ve found your niche!”

Billy picked up the mug that Steve had made, and gave it a proper look. “This one turned out really nice, though. Well done.”

Steve blushed at the praise, and said, “It’s a gift. For you. Since, you know, yours turned out looking like an ashtray.” Billy snorted. Steve motioned to his own face. “Also, because you have to put up with _this_ ugly mug every day.”

Billy sat the mug down with a _clank_ , and in a blink he had snaked one arm around Steve’s waist and had another on his neck, peppering kisses onto his face.

“I love your ugly mug,” he murmured, between kisses. “Your beautiful –“ _kiss_ “–handsome–“ _kiss_ “–perfect-in-every-way mug.”

***

They had to stop their make-out session when Missy jumped up on the counter and almost swiped Steve’s green-glazed mug down onto the floor. Steve put it away on the shelf where they kept their ever-growing collection, before they moved to the bedroom.

The next morning, he served Billy coffee from the mug he’d made. When Billy had finished his drink and saw the initials in the bottom, his whole face softened, and they barely had time to put their dishes in the sink before getting distracted, once again.

The green mug became Billy’s second favorite. (Right after Steve’s ugly – beautiful, handsome, perfect in every way – mug.)

_(Illustration by[Klayr-de-Gall](https://klayr-de-gall.tumblr.com/))_

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, although I did read through it once before posting.


End file.
